asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

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assassin's creed

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
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Join or Die

✩ Comment anonymously with a character/pairing and a kink/prompt.

✩ Comment is filled by another anonymous with fanfiction/art/or any other appropriate medium.

✩ One request per post, but fill the request as much as you want.

✩ The fill/request doesn't necessarily need to be smut.

✩ Don't flame, if you have nothing good to say, don't say anything.

✩ Have a question? Feel free to PM me.

✩ Last, but not least: HAVE FUN!

List of Kinks
Kink Meme Masterlist
New Kink Meme Masterlist
(Livejorunal) Archive
(Delicious.com) Archive
#2 (Livejournal) Archive
#2 (Delicious.com) Archive
(Dreamwidth) Archive <- Currently active
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
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OP LOVES YOU SO MUCH YOU COULDN'T EVEN IMAGINE IT, ANON! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!

Ooohhhh myyy goooddd seconded so hard, and for all the bonuses. Unf.

//bawling// right now.

Absolutely bawling. This was beautiful. Thank you so much for the fill!

Yay! :D

OP is excited for the 16th!

Writeranon apologises ahead of time if this is not exactly what OP wants, but it's the best I can manage at the moment. (Writeranon has been writing this inbetween sneezing into tissues every other sentence). If OP is unsatisfied, please let me know, and I'll try and write something a bit better once I'm well. But I simply couldn't let such a good prompt go unfilled. ~~(No, female!Conner does not now have an entire headcanon of her own, she most certainly does not...)~~

And yes, I kept Connor as her name because... I dunno why.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Haytham Kenway was no sentimental fool.

At least, he detested to think of himself in this way. He would not deny that in quiet moments he wondered to himself ‘what if?’ on a number of subjects. How life might have been so different, for better or for worse. But he did not let these thoughts consume him, or his work. Remorse was a foolish thing.

He had known for a long time that he’d had a child in the world. He’d heard the rumours, whisperings that Ziio had given birth to a child, and that that was her reason for walking away from him without a word all those years ago. In his mind, it made sense, and there was no reason for him to disbelieve these rumours, so he accepted them. When he went to Bridewell Prison to free Hickey (the man was a complete liability at times) he saw a glimpse of a face, hidden in the darkness. He was fairly certain then that he had met his son. For all the rumours spoke of a son, a boy named Connor, who joined the Assassins and had been tutored by Achilles.

It wasn’t until he had lunged at his child from the rafters in a church, heard a rather high pitched grunt as they hit the ground and had a good look at the shaping of his child’s face that he realised these rumours had been false. He and Ziio had a daughter, not a son.

That certainly threw him. “I was expecting a man.” He’d admitted, trying to retain his former composure.

“Sorry to disappoint.”

As their conversation ensued, with her throwing out wild accusations about the Templars allying themselves with the British, it became apparent to Haytham that his daughter was, to be blunt, a naive fool. And that angered him in a way he couldn’t quite describe. Upon learning he had a child, some small part of him had wished to see them join the Templar cause, and the more he heard about the assassin’s skill and success, the more he hoped this would be the case. The idea that Achilles, that boorish man, had taken his daughter and filled her head with idealistic nonsense infuriated him. The world was a dangerous place, and the idea of his child being out there, risking their life for a lost cause had annoyed him enough initially, but now it just seemed to be that they were taking advantage of his daughter’s innocence, because really, who agreed to an alliance with a man who’d just held a knife at your throat?

Not that he was displeased with that, mind you. It would give him an opportunity to show Connor (he found it hard to believe that was truly her name, but she gave no other) the truth of the world. Perhaps then she would be saved from her ignorance. There was no doubt in his mind that she would be far safer with the Templars than out in the world of the Assassins. That was why he was so harsh on her, why he belittled her beliefs at every turn, why he worked so hard to show her the truth behind the facade the supposed revolutionary heroes put on. Out of concern. Affection could wait until she’d seen the truth of the matter. If she ever would.

He did not like or approve of her being on the Aquila one bit. Sailors often tended to be rowdy and drunk. But she had snapped that they were her crew (technically that was untrue) and that she was more than capable of controlling them, female or not. Haytham disagreed. Whilst the crew of the Aquila were a bit better trained than most, there was a rather large section of drunken crew members, particularly at night. As he went for a stroll along the deck as they neared the Carribean Sea, he couldn’t help but pause as he heard voices.

“Yer a lovely lass.”

“And you are very drunk. Perhaps you should go and rest.”

“I could rest with you.”

Haytham’s fists twitched irritably. He could see the man in question speaking to his daughter, and the idea of punching him in the face so hard he fell overboard and drowned was a rather lovely one. Connor, meanwhile, just seemed a little confused.

“I think not.” She stepped back a little, her hands rising slightly to put some distance between herself and the crew member. “Please, you should rest. It is an order.” She added rather quickly, seeing the man open his mouth to argue. With a sloppy salute, the man staggered off, heading below deck.

“An appalling man.” Haytham muttered under his breath. Connor spun around sharply on one heel and glared at him. “Well, he is.”

“No more appalling than you.” She stretched a little. “Besides, at least he acknowledges my command on this ship.”

“All I’m saying is that female captains don’t truly exist as you cannot get letters of recommendation and if you think this revolution is going to bring true equality, well...” He trailed off and gestured vaguely. She already knew exactly what he felt in regards to her views on this revolution; he’d told her very sharply at frequent intervals.

Connor sighed. “I do not have the time to argue with you now. You should rest as well. We will catch up with the Welcome tomorrow.”

“In spite of your dreadful sailing?”

He was pretty sure she just rolled her eyes at him. “Goodnight father.” She walked below deck, muttering something in her own language under her breath. Ziio used to do that when she’d been frustrated as well. It had always infuriated him, because he wanted to know what it was she was saying.

Haytham pinched the bridge of his nose and scowled. He was getting sentimental about this child, and he absolutely refused to allow that to continue. It was far too dangerous. The Templar Cause came above all else, daughter or no daughter. He wouldn’t allow that to change.

Which is why he didn’t care when he shoved her out of the way and crashed her ship into Church’s ship, even when she later yelled at him for the damage he’d caused, nor did he care much for her disapproval of the way he dealt with that traitor. After all, she still met with him again in New York, which was her own decision, so he was making progress in spite of it. That was all that mattered.

“Give them a burial.”

Haytham stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”

“Give them a burial.” She repeated, nodding towards the three bodies. “They did not deserve to die; you had no right to kill them. The least you can do is to bury them.”

“Do you bury all your victims?” Haytham smirked as she turned her head away. “Of course you don’t.”

“I only kill when it is necessary. You seem to wish to kill anyone we cross paths with.”

Haytham wondered if her cognitive dissonance would ever cease to surprise him. “The people you kill have families, you know. Friends. They would want them buried too, not left out to rot. But don’t seem to care about that. You feel that you have the right to judge the Templars, when in all honesty you’re no better than us.”

“Would you hate me less if I were your son?”

He blinked, struggling to pick out the words Connor had muttered. All of sudden, the assassin in front of him looked very vulnerable. “I beg your pardon?”

“Forget it.” The walls returned as she turned away from him. “We need to find Washington.”

“Connor –”

His daughter walked out of the room without a second glance.

“Stupid girl.” He muttered quietly to himself, looking at the bodies around him. “It’s not as though it would make any...”

He did not hate her. Frustration, exasperation, concern. Those were the main feelings he had towards her. Not hatred. As if to prove it to her, the mad idea of actually burying the British officers flashed through his mind, and he considered it. But in the end, he left the bodies there for someone else to find and rode for Valley Forge. It’s not as though it would have changed anything. Would she respect him anymore for it? Probably not. She’d simply see it as a victory, her ideals over his, and that was something he refused to allow to happen.

He had tried to make her see sense one last time, but her ears were closed to what he was trying to say to her. So he decided to try a slightly different tactic as they neared Washington’s tent. “I do not hate you.” He said, trying to soften his voice. “I think you’re blind to the truth of this world, but I do not hate you.”

“Once again, you say much but you show nothing.” Connor kept walking, her eyes focused on what was ahead of them. “Nothing you have done can convince me that you are in any way fond of me, or see me as anything other than an annoyance.”

“You are an annoyance. But I wouldn’t stop seeing you as an annoyance if you were a man.”

“Even though you were waiting for a son, not a daughter.”

“You call yourself Connor. What did you expect me to think?” He paused as they reached the tent. She walked into the tent without even bothering to give any prior warning. Typical. Politeness did seem to be beyond her.

As Washington and she spoke, Haytham slipped around them, finally seeing what he had long suspected would exist. The two-faced, deceitful bastard. Washington stood there and spoke to his daughter, pretended he saw her as an ally and a friend, and she believed him to be honest. A hero. Worthy of her trust. Haytham managed to bite down his instinctive anger flaring up (for there was something in the way Washington looked at his daughter that made him wonder whether Washington wanted more from her than information) and stopped himself from killing the army leader. Even if it would have made the entire situation far less complex than it was.

“And what’s this?”

Haytham would never forget the look on Washington’s face when he realised what it was he had found. The Commander of American forces actually diving across the tent to try and snatch the paper from his hand was fairly amusing too. “Private correspondence!”

“Of course it is. Would you like to know what is says, Connor?” He was trying not to sound proud, but he was in a way. What stroke of luck this was. “It seems your good friend here has just ordered an attack on your village. Although an attack may be putting it mildly.” Her hood obscured most of her face, but the silence emanating from the normally loud mouthed girl was enough to assure him that what he was saying was being heard. “Tell her, Commander.”

Washington hesitated, before clearing his throat slightly. He saw a glimpse of Connor’s face, betrayal painted all over her. “We’ve been receiving reports of allied natives working with the British. I’ve asked my men to put a stop to it.” He didn’t even sound apologetic. More as if he was entirely justified.

“By burning their villages and salting the land. By calling for their extermination, according to this letter.” And this discovery, in Haytham’s mind, confirmed what his informants had managed to find out for him after his return from the Caribbean. “Not for the first time either. Tell her what you did fourteen years ago.”

Washington’s attempt to excuse himself infuriated Haytham more than an admission would have. For it was his actions which led to Ziio’s death, forced his daughter onto this dangerous and foolhardy path, whose actions were inadvertently responsible for the destabilisation of the Templars in this region. And he was trying to duck the blame.

“So, now you see what happens to this great man when under duress. He makes excuses, displaces blame. Does a great many things in fact – except take responsibility.” If Washington hit him, which the Commander seemed to be on the verge of doing, Haytham would happily feed him his teeth, and many other things.

“Enough!” For a second, she looked exactly like Ziio. “Who did what and why must wait. My people come first.” Sounded like her too.

Haytham hid a smirk. “Then let’s be off.”

“No.” She stepped back, and it was then he realised that part of that hatred, that feeling of betrayal, was being projected at him. “You and I are finished.”

Haytham didn’t think he’d ever feel quite as guilty as when he saw his daughter pushing a soldier off his horse and riding away to save her village, alone.

“You took advantage of her.” He said to Washington, keeping his voice as mild as possible. “She believed in you. Your ideals. She saved your life. So, if you do nothing else, let her ride on in peace.”

“I cannot allow her to –”

“If she knows that her tribe joining the British will result in their demise, she will prevent them from joining. And, let’s face it; she’s far better trained than most of your army. You’ll simply lose more soldiers if you attempt to stop her. So let her ride on.”

Washington considered this. “Very well.”

It was, Haytham thought as he rode away from the valley that night, the last kindness he could offer her. For now he had no choice in the matter. His daughter would have to die. Clearly, he would be incapable of convincing her to join sides with them, and she simply could not be allowed to run rampant through this young nation. But he would allow her to go to her grave knowing that her people were alive, if possible.

He had only directly killed two women before. And since one of them had been holding a knife to his groin when he had done so, she barely counted as a planned killing. This was something quite different. This was the eradication of enemy and kin. He had his misgivings about it.

But he would not, as Lee attempted to persuade him to do, delegate it to someone else. He would kill her himself. For he would not allow himself to be like Washington, to try and pretend that there was no blood on his hands when they were drenched with the stuff. And if, through some quirk of luck, his daughter killed him, well then. There would be no shame in it. In some ways, it would be a fitting end to his life.

Perhaps, he thought to himself as the cannon fire echoed through Fort George, lying in wait for his daughter, he had been wrong after all. Perhaps Haytham Kenway was more of a sentimental fool than he’d thought.

oh sweet mercy, anon - this is beautiful! ;; my poor heart is broken through and through

10/10 A+ will read again

Aaww Connor's ultimate weakness: cute, helpless, little animals

This sounds so angsty and hot /NOSEBLEEDS/ Someone please fill this

No, no, no, Author-anon, it's not crappy at all. I like how you've explored Shaun and Rebecca's initial sexual tension. It makes them more human. I think they're very in-character and you're doing a great job on the snark! It's difficult to write snark and I applaud you. Thank you again! I hope the next part is up soon!

Whoops. Op above ^^^^^

Thank you so much anon!! You just totally made my week! I don't think I could ever be unsatisfied with this lovely piece. <3

I really love Haytham here. He cares about Connor, and it shows, yet you've managed to keep him in-character at the same time. He still retains his sass even while he's trying to help her. Sentimental 'fool' indeed. XD

Also, I wasn't sure what her name would be either, but after reading this, I don't think anything else fits her more than "Connor."

And I was giddy with excitement when I saw that you'd included the guys hitting on Connor part. asdfo;gakljfs Haytham and his reaction.

Oh man, if you ever post any follow-ups or stories in general from this head-canon of yours, I'd love to see!! This was perfect!

Somebody accidentally spies on Connor while he's, ah, indecent. Maybe he's bathing. Maybe he was too exhausted to dress for bed, and just flopped down naked. Hell, maybe he's wanking. Whatever. The person knows they ought to turn away and respect Connor's privacy... But they can't. There's something mesmerising about that man, especially in such a vulnerable position. Cue guilty, trying-to-be silent masturbation? Or maybe just awkward adoration. Whatever floats anon's boat.

I have a preference for one of the recruits, or maybe a templar, but its really up to anon.

Author’s Notes:

A! anon is wondering what possessed her to put a plot in here. Plots are messy things. :P

Also, today majorly sucked in ALL POSSIBLE WAYS. //hyperventilates// So unfortunately, A! anon was only able to write this half a chapter. ._. Enjoy though!

Chapter 4: At the Auction

The High Society Slave Market of Boston was exactly what would come to the minds of most people who cared to think about it. It was a tall, brick red building, furnished with the most luxurious furs, silks and leathers. Ebony and ivory and gold decorated the bidding hall within and a bevy of slaves attended to the whims of its patrons. It was the very image of two distinct worlds, of the opulence, the decadence, the pretentious grandeur of the nouveau rich and the greed and the casual dehumanization of traditional slave markets.

Several carriages carrying ladies in silks and satins arrived, a rush of young men elbowed each other to help them enter the premises. Men with silk hats, fine cloaks and well-polished shoes mingled with them, boasting of the profits from their shipping businesses, of the lushness of their relatives’ plantations down South or their connections to the court while they sipped champagne (never mind the embargo on trade with the French, they had the connections and money to get around that) handed to them by their slave girls.

On the other side of the market, a loading cart, drawn by five horses, came to a rest. A burly looking man with a large jingling ring of keys leapt off the cart and made his way to the doors in the back. A bevy of guards stood at attention, clubs at the ready. The man unlocked the cart and reached within, grabbing hold of one dark, slender arm and, heaving, dragged a young Native woman out. She stood shivering and sobbing in her simple dress, watching fearfully as 15 more young Natives, mostly young women with the occasional child were pushed to stand next to her.

A smartly dressed man, with a fine jacket and soft leather gloves came out of the market, squinting at the assembled Natives. He gestured at the guards, who roughly pushed the Natives within. Walking up to the driver of the cart, he took hold of a bag at his belt and dropped it into the man’s waiting hand. A shake of the hand later, he had disappeared through the gold-gilded white doors of the market.

On top of one of the parapets of a neighboring building, Connor crouched and waited. His father, who was to join him on this mission as part of the Native Liberation’s demands, had not yet arrived. Connor wondered if the man would show at all. While his father had proposed the alliance, Connor had no doubts that he had been taken aback by the enormity of the demands Achilles and the Native Liberation had demanded in return. Connor was well aware that their request for so many arms, weapons and supplies would strain the Templar Order’s funds, as substantial as they were. But, while they could not be sure of Haytham’s motives, they could make sure that the Assassin Brotherhood and Native Liberation left the arrangement as well-positioned as possible. If Haytham chose to accept the demands, then they would have access to much needed weapons and supplies. If Haytham chose to scorn them, then they were no worse off than before and would not have a viper in their midst.

It was clear which Achilles preferred.

A soft footstep on a neighboring parapet alerted Connor, and he looked up to see the familiar dark-grey cloak his father was fond of wearing. So the man had decided to honor their demands after all.

Connor wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

He shook himself out of his reverie. There were more important matters to consider at hand.

“I trust you remember the plan?” Connor murmured, careful not to alert the guards patrolling the building.

“Yes, yes,” Haytham gestured impatiently. “I will take out the guards out here with this,” he held up a fistful of poison darts, “climb through the window on the second floor and wait in the closet therein.”

He grimaced, clearly unhappy about the thought of hiding within women’s clothing.

“You will slip through the window on the first floor there,” one gloved finger pointed at an ornate window, “after the patrol walks past, take out the auctioneer, his assistants and his private guards and alert the slaves to keep quiet and calm. And in exactly 15 minutes, I am to escape from the closet, start a fire in one of the rooms, alert the ladies and gentlemen waiting to bid to the fact that there is a fire above their heads and make my way through the no doubt panicking crowd of patrons to outside where I shall ready the cart for your arrival with the Native slaves. And then we shall smuggle the slaves through the Frontier to the Homestead where you and I will part ways until I can meet the rest of your ludicrous requirements.”

Haytham sounded distinctly less than impressed. “Have I got the basics of your idiotic plan?”

Connor bristled at that. It was the best way to free those slaves and see if he and Haytham could actually work together. Besides which… “I do not see you coming up with anything better.”

Haytham shrugged. “Your idea, your plan. And when this idea fails, and I’m saving your arse, you’d better be grateful.”

Connor ground his teeth in irritation and mentally counted to 10. When he had first come up with the idea of a joint mission, he had not thought about the possibility that his father would be an utter jackass to work with. He had certainly seemed more amenable when Connor had confronted him last at the Templar building.

But back then, Haytham had been taken aback, clearly on uneven footing when Connor had walked into his office. He has certainly found his footing now, Connor thought glumly.

If this was how Haytham normally worked with other people, then Connor had the sinking feeling that he was in for a long mission.

“Are you sitting around waiting for a bloody invitation?”

A very, very long, very miserable mission.

~_~_~_~_~

Haytham is very glad that the darkness of the night hid the blush on his cheeks. When he had first climbed to the neighboring parapet and gotten a good look at his son, he’d nearly fallen right off (and what a disaster that would have been).

Good God, the way that Connor’s leather breeches hugged his legs and (very fine) arse as he crouched was positively obscene. And the Assassin jacket certainly wasn’t helping matters. The long tails that normally draped over the Assassin’s behind had been swept up and tied to man’s belt, most likely to keep it from trailing bits of debris off the rooftops and alerting the guards below.

What was the boy thinking wearing such tight trousers? Haytham shook his head in an attempt to clear it. Well, at least he wouldn’t have much trouble dealing with the guards inside. They’d be paying so much attention to his—assets—that they’d likely miss the hidden blade heading for their throats.

He wondered if Connor had noticed his reaction before his son had made his way to his position, but between the darkness and Haytham’s natural snark, he’d guessed he successfully distracted the boy.

Idly, Haytham wondered if his son (his estranged son, his mind whispered) was aware of exactly how he appeared. On the heels of that thought came a far more disturbing one. Did Achilles teach Connor to dress like that?

Haytham decided he would need to pay a visit to Achilles and possibly eviscerate the old man.

Shaking the disconcerting thoughts out of his head, Haytham readied his sword and hidden blade. He spied a single guard wandering out of eyesight of the other guards, crouched, and leapt.

15 minutes later, he was pulling himself through the window on the second floor. His cheeks still flamed red.

~_~_~_~_~

i might be able to write something. no promises, but i might be able to do it. did you have a preference for which recruit?

This is so awesome! I'd been camping this prompt, hoping it would be filled, and you've just made my (very sad, very miserable) day a bit happier.

:)

Ziio hears some classical music on radio/pandora/whatever and attempts to waltz by herself just for fun/for the hell of it. Then Haytham walks in on her, finds her dancing by herself adorable and asks if Ziio actually wants to learn how to waltz. She agrees reluctantly.

P-please you guys.

This Anon's craving a modern-day AU where Haytham teaches a 16 or 17 year old Connor how to drive a car. Much hilarity and awkward father/son bonding ensues. Maybe Haytham takes Connor out to eat afterwards? Go crazy, WriterAnons!

Bonus Points: Connor can't drive a car to save his life, but can drive his dad's boat just fine. (No matter what universe it is, Haytham will always be rich enough to own a boat, imho.)

SUPER MEGA ULTRA BONUS POINTS: If Paul Revere comes along with them for whatever reason, and starts up with, "Go left Connor! We are on the right course! Get back in the car, Connor!"

EXTREME SUPER MEGA ULTRA BONUS POINTS: if Haytham kicks Paul out of the car.

Even MORE horrible anon commenting saying that they would perfer if Washington did win at this part too. This anon would also love to see an apple controlled Connor having sex with Washington and moaning like a puppet for him. (But that's neither here nor there) We are horrible people >_<

I was going to update tonight with the next part however I just saw above Anon's comment and since the last update will probably include-SPOILERS-the last shot of Washcon I want to redo it to include Connor moaning like a puppet and make it 100 times better. So hold on anons! Just a little longer!

So this has everything to do with the fact that Suleiman has Malik's voice actor and I'm not even sorry.

Suleiman and the 'handsome' minstrel take their friendship a little further. Ezio on top prefered, but I would just be happy for anything between them, even if it's just flirting.

I absolutely LOVED this!! Such a good read, I hope you fill more like these anon!

You had me at Haytham and Ziio, I hope someone fills this

I really wasn't expecting anybody to consider filling this, so thank you! :)

I have a huuuuge soft spot for Clipper. :3

THIS WAS AMAZING I JUST
where should I drop my first born off for you? And the lifetime supply of cookies? I love you this was so good I hope you write more!!!

just saw this on tumblr

http://25.media.tumblr.com/444b9b373760232f5b7c8c467b4da8d1/tumblr_mghha01M431s36g2mo1_1280.png

and now i need fic like burning. please, anons!

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Page 129 of 385

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Re: FILL 31/?

Re: Malik/Altaïr: size differences

OP

Re: Amnesiac! Connor, Templars grow to actually care for him

One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a... [1/1]

Re: One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a... [1/1]

Re: Between a Rock and Hard Place (pun very much intended) 7

Re: Happiness in Slavery

Re: Fill: They don't give a fuck about romance 1/2

Re: Fill: They don't give a fuck about romance 1/2 OP ABOVE

OP LOVES YOU!!!

Anybody/Connor, voyeurism

Three Princes, Chapter 4 part 1

Re: Anybody/Connor, voyeurism

Re: One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a... [1/1]

Haytham/Ziio - modern AU

Driving AU

Re:

Writer!Anon

Ezio/Suleiman

Re: FILLED : Charles/Haytham, verbal seduction

Re: Haytham/Ziio - Courting

OP

Re: FILL 2/2

connor, forced blowjob